true sky

We have settled a few miles
up the shore, bent on
meeting the sea at its level,
crane and egret sweeping
between marsh and estuary,
a Peregrine falcon plucking
some luckless passerine,
littering the yard and sidewalks,
spreading feather, gristle and bone
the glistening reminders that
the world is not our world.

A curl of uncivil smoke rises
amid the cypress, palms and pines
that sway above the school field
riddled with flock and scream, some
stubborn fire within legacy brick and
boards beneath the true sky blue,
fire trucks sirens sounding their
daily report of the unseen forces
bearing down and rumbling through
this landscape strewn with
the consequences of killing gods,

asphalt painted with gasoline and
sacrifice, fevered hands full of
death and pleasures shuffling our
last fresh deck. The world braced and
abutted by our monkey barrel insolence,
crows unfolded as the traffic meets
the abandoned offering, all souls
signed away with the mineral rights,
mountains rising blind to our flags and
statues as the sea keeps the beat,
heaven beset with fire and flailing wings.